Predators And Flight Attendants

Since this country currently has a asinine law titled “You cannot get married because you are gay and your sexual preference is clearly wrong whereas mine is right despite my reputable habits of employing call-girls and soliciting sex from airport bathrooms unbeknownst to my wife,” I have decided to write my own law. It is called “If you are an over the age of fifty, burnt out flight attendant you will automatically be transferred to prisons housing the world’s most dangerous criminals and/or convicted terrorists where you will be granted tenure for your stoic ability to remain bitchy and unmoved in even the most adverse of conditions.”

About a month ago I flew to Las Vegas by myself to watch my stepdaughter’s cheerleading competition. My cyber friend Chris of whom I had never actually met hooked me up with a beautiful room at the Venetian. Was I a little weary? Sure. Was I concerned enough to pay more at another hotel where I would likely need to illuminate the bedspread stains with a blue light? No. Did it occur to me that I could be staying in a room where secret cameras were hidden? Yep. So I simply slept in my clothes and steamed up the bathroom before I hopped in the shower to wash the gonorrhea off my body from coming into contact with the air there.

I also spent the day lying in bed watching murder mysteries. In Vegas. I fucking love those shows. I was so scared when I went to bed that night I actually had a nightmare in which the unthinkable happened: I GOT STUCK IN MY SKINNY JEANS. It.Was.Terrifying. I woke up covered in sweat, entirely panicked, unable to fall back to sleep I had no other choice but to turn the murder show back on. I tried to forget that I was meeting Chris the next day for coffee AKA my impending death, since he was likely an internet serial killer and I was his naïve, penny-pinching victim.

Frankly I was just as shocked as you when I did not end up in a shallow grave somewhere in the Nevada desert. He was actually nice and I even paid for his coffee. And of course I took sufficient precautions. I made sure the lid stayed on my latte the entire time making it especially challenging for him to roofie my ass and subsequently kill me. Honestly, I think Dateline exaggerates the omniscience of online predators to enhance their ratings because mine was like totally cool. We said our goodbyes and I hopped on the plane to go home with a souvenir: my pulse! HOLLA!

On the plane I was assigned to the emergency row. I was seated between two giant black guys and what looked like three NFL linebackers on the other side. I sat down and said “Okay gentlemen, I don’t want you blabbing to me the whole time. I have about an hour until I go home to my kids and I am looking forward to some solitude.” They started laughing even though I was not making a joke. Whatever.

Then because we were sitting in the hero row even though we would probably die anyway, we had to give verbal confirmation to this churlish, fossilized flight attendant assuring her we spoke English and could lift thirty-five lbs. if the plane crashed. I whispered to the guy next to me that I had no idea if I could lift thirty-five lbs so I was probably not his best bet for survival. He started laughing and we got a dirty look from the flight attendant. These broads provoke more fear in me than internet strangers.

Now about my law…….About 10 minutes into the flight Ms. Happy came by to turn on our TV’s. The dude’s TV next to me would not start. He told her not to worry about it in an effort to appease her anger at living. But nope, Sista reached over and unapologetically BITCHED SLAPPED THE TV, totally startling the guy sleeping on the other side. Sure as shit, the thing started right up. Girl did not give a fuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I choked on my gum and fell madly in love with her. My snap judgment was so, so wrong.

As you might imagine, this episode was the catalyst in some extremely comical banter between my gigantic, steroid taking, yet amusing seatmates and me. I randomly kicked the guy’s seat that was rudely awakened a few times in front of me and pointed to my neighbor because he was not the type of dude to start a fight with. He in turn threatened to open the emergency exit and throw me out. Funny stuff I tell you. And even though they would not shut up for the entire duration of the flight, I finally figured out what I want to do with the rest of my life and you guessed it….I am going to become a flight attendant. Bye. XO

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About Me

Hi There! I am so glad you stopped by! I started writing a couple years ago as a constructive way to channel my emotions at the prompting of my therapist. Sooooo.... my name is Erin, I am married to an Italian dentist, I have three daughters, I am deeply invested in my chosen career path of housewifing and I think living is like the ultimate joke. Welcome to my world sugars. MORE